Our Mutual Friend
by geekmama
Summary: Two men walk into a bar, on the way to Singapore.


_Written for my dear niece, who wanted something with Barbossa and Beckett._

* * *

_** Our Mutual Friend **_

"You'll forgive the intrusion. You knew Jack Sparrow?"

Barbossa looked up at the rather elegant young man. Or maybe not so young. "Who's askin'?"

"The name's Lord Cutler Beckett. May I sit down?"

Barbossa inclined his head, on the alert, but careful not to show it. Beckett. The man himself, head of the EITC. Strange he'd show in the most notorious tavern in Port Louis, but Barbossa'd seen stranger. "Slumming it, me lord?"

One corner of Beckett's mouth lifted, though there was no humor in his eyes. "Quite. You know who I am, then?"

"I know. You've no authority here in Mauritius, though, so I see no need to run for cover."

"Your friends appear to disagree," Beckett observed.

Barbossa gave a slight snort, following the man's gaze. Pintel and Ragetti were sidling out the door and Marty was following, albeit more slowly, with a bodeful glance over his shoulder as he left. He'd be waiting outside, in the shadows. Good man, for all his scant inches.

Barbossa lifted his mug and took a drink of grog, then wiped his mouth and said, "Gets a mite thirsty on a long voyage. Will ye join me in a libation?"

Beckett nodded, and summoned the publican with a snap of fingers. Barbossa frowned, but the publican knew no such qualms.

"Wine, my lord?"

"Do you have anything decent?" The publican only looked embarrassed, and Beckett laughed shortly. "Just bring me ale – and mind the tankard's clean."

"Aye, my lord." The man backed away, bowing and scraping.

Barbossa rolled his eyes. "So. You were eavesdropping on me conversation about Jack Sparrow, were you?"

"I overheard you, certainly. A mutual friend and an interesting one."

"Friend, is it? How long since you've seen your… friend?"

Beckett's sanguine expression hardened, almost imperceptibly. "It's a number of years, I must admit. Nearly fourteen."

"Ah!" Barbossa nodded. "Then you'll not be too aggrieved to hear he's dead, then."

"I had heard that, actually. And yet I gathered from your conversation that my sources may have erred."

"Oh, he's dead, all right. But the lad was quite a card, wasn't he? He may be gone, but there's all sorts of tales as yet extant."

"A card. So he was." Beckett seemed lost in thought for a moment.

"How'd you know him?" Barbossa asked, casually, and took another drink.

For a moment it seemed Beckett would not reply. His lips thinned, and his thoughts very obviously traveled elsewhere. But then he returned and fixed Barbossa with a very blue gaze. "Business. And pleasure. Although I have to admit, we didn't part on the best of terms." He laughed, suddenly. "Mad Jack Sparrow."

Barbossa gave an inward shudder. He knew enough of the things that lay between this poisonous little man and Jack. Knew some, and guessed more. If Jack was mad, a great deal of the blame lay at Beckett's door.

But he smiled in return. "'Twas the same with me, I must admit. But 'tis bad luck to speak ill of the dead. A toast. To Mad Jack, may he rest in peace."

The publican was back, with a foaming tankard on a tarnished tray. Beckett took up his drink. "To Mad Jack. And the friends who loved him."

o-o-o

"You saw Beckett!"

Barbossa scowled at Elizabeth's tone. "Belay that, missy. There was always the chance, with the _Endeavor_ making port a day after us, curse the prigs all to hell, and _that_ prig in particular. We've stores and water enough. We'll leave with the tide and make for Serendib, to the North."

"What did you talk about?" Will Turner demanded.

Barbossa laughed shortly. "What else but our mutual friend, Jack Sparrow?"

"Jack!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "What did you tell him?"

"No more'n the truth. We had a toast to the lad, and parted company."

"But Jack hated Beckett."

"Aye, and for reasons I'll wager you don't know yourself. 'Tain't fit for a lady's ears, that tale."

The lady's eyes narrowed. "I want to know."

"Elizabeth!" Turner objected.

But Barbossa chuckled, and looked her over: fine-boned and strong, and deadly as steel. No wonder Turner worshipped at that altar. "I've no doubt ye do, and maybe Jack'll see fit to tell you, some time. Now get some sleep. It's two hours 'til dawn and the turn of the tide."

o-o-o-o-o


End file.
